


The island

by malikandaltairinahaystack



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 13,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malikandaltairinahaystack/pseuds/malikandaltairinahaystack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham and Connor are stranded on a desert island. Together. Alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the beach

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to write a story like this for ages, and I mean it. The idea has been with me in other fandoms as well. I love the idea of two perfect enemies who have potential for a love story in a situation which makes them completely dependent on each other. However, I have never endeavoured a longer story, so I am very sorry if I bore you to death. I surely hope that someone out there will like it though. It comes in several parts and in the later parts there will be love and sex, which, with this pairing, will be incestuous, so be warned. I will rate this whole thing M so that it is not such a mess. ^^

The sand was everywhere. It had crept into his sleeves, his boots, and his hat was gone, so his hair was covered in it as well. Thus Haytham Kenway was in an extremely bad mood when he opened his eyes and stared into a bright blue sky. 

It was warm. Very warm. The heat and the softness of the sand underneath him and most of all this incredibly blue sky somehow made his thoughts clumsy and let them linger on unimportant issues, like whether his hat was anywhere nearby, as the sun was rather strong. 

But like a barrel rolling downhill his mind started moving faster and faster, and his whole body tensed as the situation started to take form. His body seemed unharmed, other than the blow he had got on his head. His hand reached up to feel the bump and his other hand went behind him to prop him up while he raised into a sitting position.

The bright blue sky now met a dark blue endlessness of water. 

And Haytham had to admit that the sand he was sitting on was of the best quality, fine like powdered gold. The only thing that really put him off this rather nice view was the fact that the last seconds he remembered he had spent in New York, on a rooftop, fighting his son. 

Upon this exact thought a foot clad in brown leather stretched into his peripheral vision. Raising his eyebrows, Haytham looked to his right and found Connor stretched out beside him, decked out in his robes and slowly coming to. Behind him, oh joy, there was the thoroughly missed hat. Connor opened his eyes. 

And a second later, a naked blade was against Haytham's throat. 

The grandmaster felt a lot like slapping himself. Why hadn't he drawn his weapon? Had he still been caught in the mist of his unconsciousness? Connor was younger, maybe he was able to regenerate faster. 

But then he saw the boy's reaction. Unlike him, Connor had spotted his foe before his surroundings, and, seeing the long golden beach, the endless ocean and the cloudless sky, his arm wavered. He swallowed and his gaze flickered to his father who tried to come to terms with what he felt about his son looking for answers from him. 

'Where are we?' Connor demanded, his voice raspy from the heat. Haytham could think of many a witty and scathing retort, but to his surprise he only said: 'I don't know.'

As if on cue, they both turned their heads from the sea to what lay behind them, and their eyes went wide as they became aware of a deep green jungle, its magnificent leaves and grasses blocking the view of whatever lay behind it. Above the crowns of the many trees that seemed to have grown into one rose a rock, too low to be called a mountain, to steep and rugged to be called a hill. 

'I can honestly say I have never been to a place like this.' Haytham offered, sounding a tad exasperated, as this whole setting and its whys and hows somehow made his head ache.  
'But how did we get here? And where is everyone else?' Connor had dropped his hand, and the blade had retreated. For a moment Haytham thought about retaliating, but the idea that Connor and he might be alone in this place stayed his hand. Bemusedly, he shook his head as he realised that he'd rather be with Connor than alone. 

Then he spotted something right next to his foot. It was a piece of paper. Wanting to avoid any sudden movements around his irritable son he nudged him and pointed at his find. When Connor raised his eyebrows, Haytham bent forward to get it, unfolded it and read it out aloud. 

'Peace will not come with you, so we will try it without you. Don't attempt to get away, there is no land you can reach without a big ship.'

He found it very curious that his voice had become uneven. Also, his hands were shaking. Next to him, Connor seemed to have frozen. Blinking several times, Haytham raised his eyes to his son's. Somehow it was rather irritating to see them thus empty and flat. He crumpled the note in his hand and wished it was the throats of the people who had written it instead. 

They sat on the beach, the unforgiving sun glaring on them, and time seemed to have stopped. 


	2. Chin up

It was not until Haytham noticed a shift in the light that he turned to his son once more. 'We better find out what this place has to offer.' he declared and nudged him again. Connor's head remained bowed as he seemed to stare holes in the sand. 'What use will that be?' he muttered. Haytham swallowed. Yes, officially there was no point in continuing. They were stranded, they were never going to get away from this place, they might as well give up. 

Only Haytham somehow didn't want to give up. 

'Come on, son, we need to find drinking water and a place to sleep.' he said, glad that he was so used to giving command. But his son had not been one of his followers. The dark haired head shot up and the eyes that had looked so empty before were now brimming with emotion. 

'Ah yeah? So that we can start a happy little life here? As a family maybe? Then what next? Build a ship? Sail home? Take revenge? The family business?' Connor's every word was desperate, but his outbreak proved there was still energy. 

'Sounds like a good plan. So get up, unless you want to sit here, moping until the sun has withered you into a huge half blood raisin.' Haytham chuckled at Connor's glare, he liked that a lot better than the despair. Slowly, his son got to his feet. 'Damn this is hot.' the boy grunted and immediately threw off most of his robes. Raising his eyebrows, Haytham watched him hop on one foot while yanking the boot off the other. Finally, Connor stood before him in breeches and shirt, his red sash still around his hips like an angry reminder of what he still believed he was. And what do you know, he had kept his hidden blades on. 

Sighing, Haytham slowly unbuttoned his heavy coats and waistcoat. 'I have to give it to you, the heat is absolutely mindblowing. I will be ready in a tiffy.' And soon he also only wore a shirt, albeit one with lace and billowing sleeves, his breeches and his broad black belt. He made a point of fingering his bracers as he wanted Connor to remember he was not the only one with hidden blades. The sand felt rather good beneath his feet, but also very hot. 'Shall we be off then? I don't care about burnt soles.' he quipped. Wordlessly, Connor took the lead towards the jungle.


	3. Under attack

The jungle before them looked like it was one piece, a living being which moved and twisted slightly. It took them a while to find an opening, but once they were inside it was much easier. The plants and trees seemed to form a wall on the outside, but now they were walking past lean stems and bigger trunks, the occasional leaf and flower like a welcome decoration in this world of green shadows. 

Haytham kept a wary eye on each moving bit, feeling not the slightest urge to encounter creatures that weren't entirely good for your health. He remembered the first time he had been to a swamp in America's south, and his fists cramped, ready to let the blades hiss out at the mere sight of a snake or an alligator. 

But the further they got into the jungle the more Haytham had to admit that this place was obviously safe. In fact, except for the odd bird he hadn't seen a single other living being than themselves. That was until they stopped next to a huge tree trunk to decide where they were going to go next. 

'I say we try to get to the rock. If we climb it, we can get a good view of this place.' Connor said and didn't even look at Haytham for consent. The grandmaster frowned and wondered how long it was going to take until his son ended up on one of his blades, when suddenly he had a strange sensation on his left foot. If felt a little as though his limb had gone numb and then become all ticklish. He looked down and his jaw dropped. Dozens of huge ants were climbing up his leg. Haytham was at a loss. What could his blades do against these? Ripping himself out of his stupor he quickly shook his leg, jumping about, slapping the beasts off and only resulting in receiving what felt like nasty stings. He all but shrieked and hopped on one leg, trying to get away from the source of the pest, the huge trunk. 

Now he definitely had Connor's interest who had finally decided to find out why his father was making such strange noises. Between two hops Haytham caught a glimpse of his son's grinning face and seethed. 'A little help here, maybe?' he yelled. 

Connor only shrugged. 'You're doing fine.' came his even voice. Now Haytham's blades shot out. 'Help me, or we will both end on this blasted island!' Sighing, Connor took a step forward. 'Put away those blades.' he muttered and then grabbed his father's leg, swatting the ants with his huge strong hands. 'How far did they get?' he said, eying Haytham's thigh and crotch. The older man blushed. 'Not THAT far, mind you.' he spat and squashed the last ant. 

'Well, it looks like you found the biggest threat on this island.' Connor said, straightening up and helping Haytham to his feet. 'Let's not get too close to this trunk again.' He turned around to take the lead again and missed Haytham grimacing at his back.


	4. The rock

They finally got to the rock and climbed it without any difficulty. There was a steep smooth bit at the end that required them to cooperate, which they did without a word, Haytham steadying himself against the wall and Connor climbing up, then pulling him to the top as well. They didn't even stop to think about it as it turned out Connor was right: This place gave them a splendid view of their surroundings. And as Haytham had feared, it was indeed an island, and a rather small one at that. The rock was almost exactly the centre of the tiny bit of land in the vast ocean, and the jungle around it only parted for what appeared to be a waterfall coming out of the wall opposite the one they had climbed. The water gathered in a pool at the bottom of the rock and meandered its way through the trees and bushes until it reached the sea. 

'There's our drinking water.' Connor said and Haytham took a short glance at him. The downhearted look that had ruled his son's features on the beach was now replaced by a mixture of curiosity and ambition. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he could have had worse company on this godforsaken rock. 'Well then, let's see what the other side of the island has to offer. Maybe we can solve the problem of a place to rest soon, as well.' he said courtly, making sure none of his emotions showed in his voice. He wondered if he had been successful as he caught a strange look Connor gave him. However, he chose to ignore it and soon they were climbing down the other wall, right next to the waterfall, and their slippery path kept both of them entertained as to not ponder too much on feelings and such.


	5. The tomahawk

'This is rather convenient.' Haytham said as they inspected a cave at the bottom of the rock, quite close to the waterfall. 'It is small, but it will provide shelter, from storms or creatures we haven't encountered yet, provided we can build some sort of gate.' Connor frowned. 'Almost too convenient. Do you think they checked this place to see if it was fit for living?' Haytham sighed. 

'I just don't understand why they didn't simply kill us.' Connor continued, waving his hands about. Haytham remained silent as he neither had an answer on that nor on the fact why it struck him that they were now constantly using the words 'we' and 'us'. 'Maybe a form of torture. Everyone probably knows how irritating you can be, so they put me here with you to suffer thoroughly.' And no, the insult didn't make his odd feeling go away. It only helped to make Connor angry at him and sneer a little. Haytham found himself thinking that he was doing a good job keeping Connor away from troubling thoughts. Which left him with the question why he wanted to protect the man who not so long ago had been his dearest enemy. 

Lost in his thoughts, he followed Connor who this time chose to make his way to the beach, back to where they had left their clothes. On their way Haytham discovered something he identified as a coconut only to roll his eyes at Connor's puzzled look at the sight of the seemingly solid, hairy ball. 'Don't try to eat it like this, you look like you would. One is to open it and eat the inside. There is some type of liquid in it that is quite enjoyable, as well.' he lectured and now it was Connor's turn to make a face. 'Maybe we will find a few tee plants for you, as well?' he muttered. Haytham snorted. 'That, as acceptable as I might find it, will remain wishful thinking.' 

They stored their clothes and the rest of their weapons in the cave and then Haytham dusted his hands. 'Well then, let's take that axe of yours and cut down some of the slimmer trees so that we get that gate finished before sunset.' His son's face darkened. 'My what?' he asked, his voice strained. Haytham raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the weapon resting against the cave's wall. 'That thing there.' 'That is a tomahawk!' Connor shouted. 'Whatever!' Haytham threw his hands in the air. 'Now grab it and let's go.' 'We are not going to cut down trees with my tomahawk!' Connor hissed through gritted teeth. 

'I am sorry?' Haytham said, cocking his head. 'You have this axe with you but you don't want to use it? Pray tell me, do you expect me to rip out the trunks then? Or gnaw them off?' 'Why don't you cut them down with your sharp tongue!' Connor yelled, his fists balled. For the first time, Haytham was genuinely puzzled. 'Why is it a problem?' he finally asked, and the lack of venom stopped Connor dead in his angry surge. The assassin's face fell and his jaw dropped. With visible difficulty he finally wrapped his mind around the fact that his father had just honestly shown concern at his feelings. 

He fumbled with his hands. 'It is...we do use tomahawks as a tool. But sometimes they are more than that. They are dedicated to a cause and they represent it. It would desecrate it to...' Connor stopped and looked away, his hands moving even faster, fingers entwining, cramping and unwinding again. He was waiting for Haytham to ridicule his feelings, the customs of his people, but when he glanced at his father he found the man sitting silently next to him, a distant, thoughtful look on his face. Connor closed his eyes as his world began to swim. 

Then he got to his feet, tomahawk in his hands. 'But the cause is dead now, so we might as well go and cut the trunks.' His fathers bright gaze seemed to envelop him, and Connor was looking forward to menial work, so that his mind would find a way to calm itself down.


	6. The night

They managed to finish a gate that rather resembled a lattice almost the moment the sun had fully set. Slim trunks were held together with lianas and thus provided protection from whatever lurked out in the jungle and only came out at night. 'It won't keep off ants, though...' Connor chuckled and Haytham rose his eyebrows. 'If they come in here, they might feast on you, too.' he retorted but realised his tone was good natured. Connor waved his hands. 'Nah, they have tasted you and told their friends, they will be all over you.' Haytham smirked at Connor's insolent grin. Then he looked around. They had dragged palm tree leaves into the cave to make the floor more comfortable. Connor had bemoaned the impossibility of sleeping at the beach as the sand looked rather inviting, but both of them had agreed that that was too dangerous without knowing enough about the island. 

The cave was so small that they were only able to make one big heap of leaves. Haytham studied their rather sharp edges and then grabbed his bigger coat and flung it across them. He didn't look at Connor when he settled down on his side, and made a point of using his smaller coat as a cover just for himself. A few moments later, he felt his son lie down beside him, and the white assassin's robes could be distinguished from the darkness as Connor wrapped himself into them. Before Haytham could figure out his mixed feelings he had dozed off. 

He woke up when it was still quite dark, with a leg across his thigh and a hand in his face. Spluttering he tried to sit up, realising he had been pushed to the wall of the cave while Connor was lying spread eagled in the middle of their make shift bed, his robes and Haytham's second coat wrapped around him. Haytham didn't know weather to laugh or cry. If this was going to be the way all their nights turned out he had to find another place to sleep or work out a way not to be smeared into the walls by his son's bed manners. Tentatively he poked the sleeping man and received no reaction at all. 

'Pretty fast asleep for an assassin...' he muttered to himself, having all his life prided himself for his light sleep. He tilted his head and studied Connor's face in the dim light of the moon shining into their hiding place. Yes, definitely Ziio's son. It irritated him to find the resemblance. And he decided to ignore the fact that Connor had a lot of himself, too. Instead, he wrestled his coat free and wrapped himself into it again. He studied the cave's rugged ceiling until it became the landscape for a dream.


	7. Fishing

The next time he awoke the sun was shining brightly outside and he was unbearably hot. Sitting up he realised that he was wrapped not only in his own coat but Connor's robes as well. His son, however, was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Haytham decided that trying to make him die of a heatstroke was to be taken as some act of kindness from his son, and he got up and made his way out of the cave to the waterfall. Connor was nowhere to be seen, and Haytham took the chance and removed his shirt to take a short wash under the waterfall. Then, with some difficulty, as he lacked a mirror, he shaved off the stubble that had formed during the night on his face and retied his hair. 

Even though the soft breeze felt good on his naked skin he put back on his shirt, although it was rather smelly by now. Appearances had to be kept. He made his way to the beach, wondering if Connor was somewhere there. 

The first thing he saw was a small heap of clothes in the sand. Breeches, Shirt, sash, loin cloth. Cocking his head, Haytham was still trying not to think what this meant when he noticed Connor walking towards him. His jaw dropped. 

Out of the ocean waded this tall young brown and completely naked man. The only things he wore on his body were the necklace with the three bear claws and the two bracers. He seemed to have used them to fish, a method that was new to Haytham, but obviously worked as Connor was carrying a rather large fish across his shoulder, which bore the marks of his weapons. But Haytham wasn't too concerned about the fish. His gaze was drawn to the place between his son's legs, the place he hadn't seen before. A long, thick, soft cock hung there, from a nearly hairless base, with balls to support it, and all of the crotch seemed to hypnotize Haytham as it dangled there while Connor seemed to be unfazed by his own nakedness and walked towards his father. Finally, as the assassin stood before him, Haytham was able to rip his gaze from his son's groin and blood flushed into his face. 'God damn it, you bloody savage, have you no concept of decency?' he spat and spun on his heel to barge into the bushes behind him, leaving a nonplussed Connor at the beach.


	8. To jump or not to jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me trying to explain Haytham in a plausible way. I fail so much. But we need that to get to the sex, don't we? ^^

The rock was a terrific place to sit, found Haytham as he stared out at the see, his eyes squinting. One could easily jump off it and thus stop all those nasty thoughts about one's own son. Which came with a lot of nasty thoughts about one's own life. Interesting how those feelings had given him the strength to reach the top without his son's help. But he had felt like jumping in the ocean and swimming until he drowned, so this solution was a little less...extreme. 

If only he could turn off these feelings. He had been quite successful in the past, especially whenever he had a purpose. His kind was looked down upon wherever he had turned, so he had been careful not to be open about his preferences to anyone. And never had it been so easy than during his time in America. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was that he had never met anyone who lit that fire in him. Until now. 

He thought of Ziio and smiled sadly. Yes, it made sense. The only woman who had ever appealed to him had given birth to the man who now broke his resolve. Ziio. She had initiated the kiss, the sex, and when she had realised what he was, in more than one way, had sent him away again. But he had wanted it all along. She had been the one woman who had made him want to be a husband, a father. He still wondered why she hadn't given him a chance. Maybe because she had known he didn't deserve one. Maybe she had known his lust for men would surface again and make him impossible in front of everyone. Most of all, however, she had despised the templar that he was. 

And now he was sitting on this rock, knowing that Connor, the only person on this island with him, made him feel things beyond anything that was acceptable. 'If I don't jump here, I will either burst or wither.' he muttered and buried his face in his hands. 

'How did you get up there anyways?' Connor said from the little platform below. Haytham's head shot up. Against his will he turned his head and looked down at his son who was looking up at him with something like concern on his face. He was still naked. 'God!' Haytham groaned, burying his face again. 'What is wrong with you, old man?' Connor said impatiently. 'Get down there, I need help with the fire.' Haytham listened to him climbing back down again. His words had sobered him a bit. 'Countenance.' he hissed through gritted teeth and followed Connor.


	9. Quid pro quo

He found his naked son bent over a heap of wood, and he was operating flint stones with his huge hands. It almost looked like he was going to drop them, but amazingly enough, a spark developed and soon a fire burned. 

'Be careful you don't get burned in the wrong places.' Haytham remarked scathingly. Connor rose to his full height, displaying himself with this irritating lack of shame. 'I ask again: What is your problem? I understand your people even wash with clothes on, but there is no need to make others behave that stupidly. It is hot, my clothes are dirty. If you prefer to walk around smelling like stables that haven't been cleaned out for ages, go ahead.' Haytham raised a brow. 'Are you suggesting I should walk around naked as well?' he asked incredulously. 

Curiously, Connor's face twitched for a second, but his voice was calm when he said: 'You may walk around in your coat or naked, it will be all the same to me.' Haytham stared at him and then nodded slowly. 'It certainly will, won't it?' Connor's eyes didn't meet his and Haytham started to grin. 'Well then, why not? Time to...let things hang, as they say?' He watched his son who suddenly met his gaze, a fire burning in the deep brown eyes that hadn't been there before. 'I don't know why you must provoke me.' he said and Haytham chuckled. 'Me...provoke you? Who was the one running around naked in the first place? It is perfectly natural, isn't it?' 

With visible effort, Connor schooled his features into neutrality again. He looked back at the fire and busied himself with cleaning the fish. 'It is.' was all he said. Haytham bit his lip. This was too good. Connor had no problem with being in the nude himself, but when it came to Haytham suddenly he had inhibitions? If that wasn't worth exploring. Of course, it came at the cost of running around like a savage, and he had to admit he had no idea if he was going to be able to do it without collapsing from shame, but the urge to irritate his son proved to be stronger. 

Slowly, he took off his shirt. His belt went next. The breeches came off along with his undergarments. When the first breeze gently touched his private places, he shivered slightly. But when he straightened up he realised it didn't feel bad at all. In fact, he felt rather rejuvenated by his undressed state. He glanced at Connor who was still crouching over the fish and smirked. Making more noise than necessary, kicking about some pebbles and twigs, he walked towards his son, spreading his arms. Come on, one glance. There. Oh, and that adorable blush. 'See, not a stitch.' he said colloquially while his son took on a shade of red he hadn't thought possible in a native.


	10. A game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. I was wondering who of the two would be the blushing virgin and who the predator, and well, read for yourself what I decided. It should be so much more fun like this. ^^

But what was it that made Connor flinch when Haytham finally settled next to him, closer than necessary, skin against skin? 'Show me how you do that.' he whispered in his son's ear and watched goosebumps form on the brown skin. No, it wasn't revulsion, because even though Connor kept his eyes firmly on the fish, he never moved away an inch. 'You...cut off the finn...' he muttered, his voice betraying insecurity. 'Then you...' Connor suddenly turned his head. 'You're not even watching.' he said, swallowing, meeting Haytham's gaze, which had been resting on him all the time. 'Oh yes.' his father all but purred. 'I am watching you.' And he gave what could only be described as a feral grin. 

For an instant he thought Connor would blush even more, but all of a sudden the young man rose and Haytham was face to face with his son's crotch. Haytham gasped and he felt his body react. 'I will get you a knife so you can help me.' he heard Connor say who seemed to deliberately remain in this position for much longer than necessary, his eyes on Haytham as he seemed to scrutinize him, taking in every single of his bodily reactions. Then the young man gracefully took a step around him. Haytham stared at the jungle slack jawed and then turned his head, incredulous. Connor was walking towards the cave, and before he entered it he looked over his shoulder back at Haytham in a way that said: Two can play this game. The grandmaster took a sharp breath and shook his head. 'Looks like I've underestimated him.' he muttered to himself. Then he rubbed his hands and grinned. 'Well, then let the games begin.'


	11. Two-spirited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled my knowledge about the Mohawk term for homosexuals, and if my information is wrong, please tell me. Or maybe, don't, because then I'd have to rewrite this chapter and I don't want to as it is has been a hard one. ^^

He didn't see the knife coming, but he surely saw where it ended. An inch or two further and he would have sung a few octaves higher. His head shot up and he flushed angrily as he saw Connor grin down on him. 'Go ahead, remove the fins. Then take out the guts. I will collect more wood for the fire. Then I can show you how to remove the bones.' Before Haytham could think of a retort the jungle had closed behind his son. Grumbling, Haytham set to work. Grimacing, he removed the guts and dropped them on the ground next to the fins. By now he was sticky and slimy all over, so he went to the waterfall and stepped under it. 

It felt good to have the water splash down on him, cool and clear, and he eagerly rubbed his body to get the fishy smell off himself. It took him a few seconds to notice that more than two hands were cleaning him. When the foreign hands moved south he grabbed them and turned round only to be pressed into the stone wall behind the waterfall by his son. For a moment Haytham was mesmerized by the way Connor looked so much like he was in battle. There was heat in his gaze, and his breath was coming heavily while his whole body was brimming with energy, and he held his father against the wall in an iron grip. Haytham writhed, but to no avail. Anger boiled up in the grandmaster. 

'What do you even know about this!' he hissed and Connor sneered. 'I know enough to know what you are.' Haytham cocked his head. 'So what am I then?' he spat. Connor's eyes seemed to be filled with fire. 'You are one of the two-spirited.' His grip became even tighter. 'Why did you go after my mother if you are like this?' Haytham gritted his teeth at the added pressure. 'This is none of your business. And maybe you should ask yourself where you stand. One or two-spirited, Connor?' 'Oh, so you suddenly became interested in Mohawk culture? Well then. My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. You better learn that fast. And I can also say: None of your business, Haytham.' But he didn't let go, simply stared at Haytham, waiting for his next move.


	12. Our kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I found a way around the two-spirited problem. ^^

Haytham only raised an eyebrow. 'Why is it called two-spirited anyways? I am pretty single minded about what I like. And who.' Connor rolled his eyes. 'I bet you are.' 'Well, are you any different?' 'This is not about me.' 'Oh yes, it is. Everything is about you AND me, because it is the two of us on this island.'

Connor sighed. 'Two-spirited people are between genders. They love whom they love. They can be a woman even though they were born a man. Then they can love another man.' 

He had to smile when he saw Haytham's face. It showed absolute dismay. 'I will have you know that I am not a woman.' he snapped and lifted his chin. 'I am very male indeed. It is just whom I like that makes me...different. So is that still two-spirited?' Connor shrugged. 'In a way, I guess.' He looked away. Haytham frowned. 'And is it...accepted to be two-spirited? Or just to love men? I mean, among your people?' 

His son took a deep breath. 'It...is difficult.' he said and Haytham grimaced. 'Seems there is no solace for my kind.' he muttered and Connor shook his head. 'You must hide it. You must make sure no one notices how much you really like your best friend. How much you want to do more than wrestle with him. How much you want to admire his beauty...' the young native broke off and blushed severely, and Haytham continued. 'How much you want to keep holding his hand when you shake it. How much you want to kiss the mouth that greets you. How much you want to hold him, not hug him.' He gazed at his son who looked back at him. 'Yeah.' Connor finally whispered.


	13. Sticks

They stood under the waterfall and looked at each other as if all the world was gone except for the two of them. Goosebumps were forming on their skin and their teeth started clattering.  
It was Haytham who finally spoke. 'We...could both simply take two steps to the right and be all warm and comfy and still keep looking at each other.' Connor blinked, then frowned. Then his face split into a smile. 'We could also go back to our fish.' And with that he turned round and stepped out of the waterfall, and Haytham instantly felt so much colder than before. Throwing his arms around his body, he followed his son back to their fireplace. Connor had started to remove the fishbones. 'You could find sticks, we can use them to hold the fish over the fire.' he said. Haytham only nodded and made his way to the jungle. Connor's voice suddenly rose behind him. 'Did you love her?' Haytham stopped dead in his tracks. The jungle before him was green and quiet. 'Yes, I did.' he said, finally. He stepped into the green leaves without looking back.  
Collecting sticks was very entertaining, pleasant even, compared to the thoughts and feelings that were in turmoil inside of him. The questions were most annoying. What did Connor see in him? Did he actually see him as a man, or rather more importantly, as an attractive man? Or was he just trying to find out the depths of his depravity? But to what end? And the question about his mother! It irritated Haytham to no end. As if Ziio was watching him. He had quite a good idea what she would say to him. But maybe he was wrong about her, as he might be wrong about his son. He'd be damned if he could read them, those blasted savages.  
And yet they had captured his interest...even his heart. It was true. He had loved Ziio, or what he had know of her. Her strong spirit, her way of walking through life with a straight back. Her tender touch.  
'I am really becoming an old fool.' he muttered. 'I actually thought you were an old and dead fool.' came a voice from behind. Haytham spun round to find Connor staring at him, an eyebrow arched. 'What are you doing? The fish is going to rot before you return with the sticks. I thought you were lying somewhere with a heart attack.' 'I'm not that old.' Haytham hissed, feeling as if someone had ripped him out of a strange dream. 'Stop creeping up on me like that. Here are your sticks. Let's go back.'


	14. Beach with a view

Later that day, Haytham sat at the beach, trying to open a coconut and watching Connor wading in the shallow surf, trying to catch some more fish. They had roasted their fish and eaten it silently. Haytham had found it hard to address Connor, to find something to talk about. It also seemed as if the moment under the waterfall hadn't happened. So why did Connor join him there? And why the silence now?

Sighing, Haytham wondered if Connor simply thought that he was too old. And too related to him for that matter. Haytham wondered what would have happened, had he met Connor when he was younger, as strangers, not father and son. Would Connor have wanted him? Found him attractive?

Absent mindedly he worked on the coconut, using a rock and his knife to get through the shell, until suddenly a gap was forming and the milk splashed onto his naked skin.   
Ah yes, he was still naked. He had almost forgotten about it. The game was at pause. He squinted to make out Connor's naked behind, glistening wet in the bright sun. Maybe he had dreamed it all. Maybe it was just a fantasy of an old man who should have died on the roofs of New York. He studied the blade. It seemed to be the only real thing among this mind wrecking uncertainty. Would they survive? What would happen if they did? Would Connor ever want him? It felt like the blade was beckoning him, showing him a way out. 

His son was charging towards the beach now, then throwing himself in the waves, sending the water splashing up high, a thousand diamonds in the sky. Then he straightened up, lifting a heavy fish on his shoulder. Proudly, he waved to the beach. Haytham put the knife down. No, not yet, not on this day, not at this sight.


	15. The baptism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, but Connor refuses to go any faster...uvu

The water was splashing around Connor's knees as he made his way towards the beach, the fish on his shoulder, and his blades safely retracted. Haytham stood up. Suddenly his path lay before him, clear and bold, and the first step into the water felt like a baptism. He waded towards his son, slowly, watching him, holding him with his gaze like a prowling animal. Instead of all the turmoil there was stillness inside of him as he came closer to his aim. 

He read surprise on his son's face, and fear. It fed his ego. The game was off. He had thrown over the table and the pieces lay scattered, only the knight, the knight was in his hand. Connor seemed frozen to the spot, the rabbit before the snake, the fish sliding from his grip, and their eye contact was nearly broken when he tried to hold on to it, but at that moment, Haytham was there. 

He didn't even slow down much, virtually slammed into his son's body as he captured the slightly parted lips with his own, closing his mouth over anything Connor could have said. His arms went around the slim waist and his hands moved up to the broad shoulders. It was one fluid motion, his whole body spreading itself onto Connor's. Their bare crotches met, and the brown eyes shot open, the soft mouth gasped into his and was promptly filled with his tongue. 

A long moan nearly made Haytham's knees give as he started to explore. The soft wetness let his blood race, and his tongue twirled around his son's as he tilted his head, going deeper, sucking, tasting him, until he was nearly breathless. Gasping, he broke the kiss for a second.   
Faster than lightening, strong arms were around him, one pressing his right arm to his body, and one his left, hand in his hair, tearing apart his pony tail, sending the ribbon flying, mussing his grey strands, fisting them, suddenly controlling his head and the next kiss as he was moved in position. His son's mouth was demanding now, was devouring him, and he clawed at the strong back, tried to steady his legs, but he knew they were going to give, that Connor would send them into the shallow surf, and so it happened. 

The water splashed and sandy mud washed over them. As if it had shaken him out of his frenzy, Connor looked down on him, blinking. Their lips were swollen, their breath was going heavily and their cocks were hard against each other. Haytham just lay there, his hair like a moving silver halo around his head, muddied by the water. Slowly, Connor shook his head and Haytham closed his eyes. But they snapped open again as he heard a soft chuckle. Connor smiled down at him. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Haytham's slack mouth. Then he grabbed his father and hauled them both to their feet. Not letting go of him, Connor bent down and grabbed the fish, then maneuvered them both to the beach.


	16. Confessions

'Tell me something.' They had prepared and eaten some of the fish and the coconut, and Connor had spread out long stripes of fish on big leaves to dry them. Now they were idly lying on the ground in the shadow of the trees around their fireplace, Connor's arm hanging loosely around Haytham's neck, Haytham's head resting slightly on Connor's shoulder. Haytham had managed to save enough of the coconut shell to create two little mugs and they were sipping water in silence. Then, suddenly, Connor had spoken.   
'What is it?' Haytham asked, watching the leaves of the trees move against the blue sky. He felt Connor shift and cast a glance at him. His son's eyes were on him, intently, as if he was trying to read his mind. Involuntarily, Haytham tensed up, the water in his mug taking a little splash. 

'It is not acceptable among white people for men to love other men. So how did you do it?' Haytham didn't know what to say. He shook his head and finally laughed. 'Why is this question so important?' he asked. Connor frowned. 'Just answer it.' Haytham turned his head to see if Connor was still staring at him. He was. Sighing, the grandmaster turned the mug in his hands. 'Well, you must not be found out, and yet you must be bold, or else you won't find anyone to...' '...take to bed.' Haytham's eyes narrowed and he smirked, but Connor, albeit blushing, held his gaze. 'Indeed. Well, it is a tricky matter. However, I was not too bothered by it.' Connor moved a little. 'Why not?' he asked. 

For a moment, Haytham thought he should let it rest, should tell Connor it was none of his business. On this island, his past didn't matter, at least everything that Connor didn't know about. So why open his eyes to all his flaws and sins? 

But then he felt the need to speak, to make sure Connor knew him, knew this part of him that had been buried inside of him for so long. 'Because,' he said, and his gaze didn't move from his son's,'because I had only ever had one in the same person who took me to bed. And after him I didn't want to succumb to my needs and tried to ban it from my thoughts.' Connor frowned. 'Is he still in England?' he asked. Haytham nodded. 'In a way,' he drawled.' He is dead.' Connor nodded. 'Did you kill him?' he asked as if he was talking about the weather. Haytham took a deep breath. 'Not directly.' he said, then put down his cup. 'Now you tell me something.' 

Connor bowed his head as if he was studying his cup. 'What...is it?' he muttered. Haytham sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, raising his head from Connor's shoulder. 'Have you had a lover before?' The water spun in the little cup as the big hands turned it feverishly. Then Connor looked up. 'No, I haven't. While there was...someone...I was sure he wasn't...like me. And after that...I never had time...' Haytham nodded. 'Yes, the time. One is quite busy wielding those two blades, isn't one?' He reached out and touched Connor's bracer on his left arm. His son watched him for a moment until he pulled him close again. 'Maybe...we can take them off...' he said. Haytham settled back down against his son's slightly bigger frame and smiled. 'Maybe.' he said.


	17. Too good

Haytham couldn't remember succumbing to such laziness before. Lying there with Connor's fingers playing with his hair seemed more than enough to fill a whole afternoon. The trees around them cast different patterns of shadow on their skin as the sun tried to break through the leaves, and the steady noises of the waterfall were like a lullaby. He was full, he was comfortable, he was...happy. His eyes shot open and his body tensed. 

'What is wrong?' muttered Connor, sounding as if he found it difficult to even utter three words. Haytham bit his lip. He didn't dare turn his head to his son. The long, brown legs that were entwined with his, shifted. 'Haytham.' Connor said. Haytham's heart made a leap. His name. His son. The kiss. Oh god, nothing that was so good could ever not end up in loss. He buried his head in his hands and let out a shaky breath. His loose hair came falling forward like a curtain.

A broad hand touched his back, and then it disappeared again. It was replaced by lips which kissed his shoulderblade, softly and tentatively. The next kiss was placed on his shoulder, right next to his neck. Then long, strong fingers collected his hair and pushed it away and Connor leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

Without wanting to Haytham had straightened up again and was now almost leaning back, meeting Connor's caress. He only had to turn his head a little and Connor promptly kissed his mouth, chastely, with his lips closed and his eyes half lidded. 

But then the strong young man buried his hand in his hair and closed it into a fist. He tugged a little and Haytham felt his body shiver. His groin tingled and the soft breeze seemed enough to send goosebumps over his chest and make his nipples erect. Then Connor's other hand came to rest on his stomach, and slowly, ever so slowly, made its way south. The fingers grazed his pubic hair, softly running over it and then delving deeper, touching the skin underneath. Haytham gasped into the kiss and his legs opened to welcome more touches.


	18. Not important

His mind was blurry, lost in the mounting excitement Connor's touches gave him, the fingers now gliding across his half hard cock, as if he wanted to memorize the soft skin and the veins running under it. All Haytham wanted was to be touched more, grabbed, rubbed, tugged, but his own hands lay idly by his sides as he rested with his back against his son. He wanted Connor to do it. He wanted to feel his hands on him. There. It was quite obvious the young man had never been with anyone before, but he knew this, it was as if he was touching himself. And Haytham was very aware of Connor's own arousal, feeling his swollen cock press against the small of his back. 

But the touch was still tentative, frustratingly slow and soft, torture, yet sweet, like most of the things to do with Connor. Maybe that was the essence of his life, that nothing he gained would ever come without that bitterness, that strain, that sharp edge. It was the red thread he was going by, an order by itself, and when he realised this, he relaxed and simply waited, accepting his fate, as order was what he was striving for, and so all was good. The hand was weighing his balls, the thumb rubbing across them slightly, as if Connor was contemplating the fact that this was his origin. 

'Does it not bother you?' Haytham's question came quite unexpectedly, even to himself. 'What?' Connor's answer was muffled, as he had started to kiss his father's neck again. 'That I am your father.' The kisses stopped and Haytham could feel his son's breath against his neck. Then he noticed a small shrug that shook him just a little. 'You were never there. It is just like you are not my father.' Connor stopped, his head tilting a little as if he was thinking. Then he said:'I am aware of our relation. I guess we shouldn't be doing this anywhere else but on this island, people wouldn't understand. But to me it is not important.'

He bent forward again to resume his kissing and his hand moved from his father's balls to his cock, when he stopped and Haytham, who had remained very still during Connor's little speech, practically felt his son's dark gaze against his cheek. 'Does it bother you?' Haytham smiled. He nearly laughed. 'It...doesn't.' he said, and it was the truth. This here was his son, touching him, fondling him, and he knew it whenever he looked at him. But he had never seen him as a boy, and now, as an adult, he was just the finest man he had ever laid his eyes on. He was a proud father, yes, but much more so he was an aroused lover. No, it was not important. 

At that instant Connor's hand closed around his cock and Haytham's eyes closed and his mouth fell open. Sinking even more against his son he gave a shaky little breath and Connor seemed to have understood as he started moving his hand.


	19. A naked blade

The last coherent thought Haytham had was about the incredible fact that it felt so much better when someone else was doing this. A shiver went across his skin when he remembered the last time a man had touched him like this, a man who now lay dead. Groaning he wondered if he was going to be haunted by the memory of this long lost lover when Connor moved his thumb over the tip of his cock, nudging at his slit. Haytham hissed and his hands gripped the ground, his fingers digging into loose soil, dry and warmed by the hot wind. Connor must have done this to himself, and loved it, and now he was trying it out on his father. Oh, and they did share this preference. Haytham threw his head back and his neck was exposed to Connor whose breath was hot and fast against his skin. Then kisses rained and the other hand suddenly started to roam across his chest, finding his nipples, rubbing callused tips over them. The roughness made them hard, and Haytham's sounds became strangled. 

And then Connor stopped. Haytham gasped and his eyes popped open. The confounded bastard. He had been so close. He turned his head and his blade shot out. 'What...does this mean...'he managed. Connor studied the cold metal with a smirk. 'It means I think you should return the favour.' Haytham stared at him incredulously. Then he snarled: 'You have a mouth. Why don't you say so?' His blade retracted and rolled around, purposefully kicking Connor in the process. A hand reached out to grab his hair again, but this time Haytham was faster. The warrior's lock at the back of Connor's head made a great handle. He admired his son's white teeth when the boy flinched in pain as he tugged viciously at the black strands. Strong brown hands were flailing and Haytham batted them aside. To his surprise, Connor let them sink. He held him at his outstretched arm and now took his time to take in the naked body before him. 

Nearly hairless and beautifully brown it was a magnificent weapon. The muscles, bulkier than his, rippled under the smooth skin and Haytham knew very well that Connor could best him in a fight, actually could rip him apart right now. He was letting him see him, exposed himself to him. Haytham drew in a shaky breath and his free hand reached out to touch the broad chest, right between the two dark brown nipples. His fingers spread and slowly his hand moved down. Almost reverently, he felt up every inch of skin until he reached the sparse hair around Connor's hard, leaking cock. His gaze darted up and met Connor's. It took his breath away. The half lidded dark eyes seemed to smolder, like coals left in the oven, filled with the power of fire if only set free. And Haytham wanted to feel that fire.


	20. Crossing blades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and the cheesy title. ;)

A spark lit in the dark brown eyes and Haytham saw Connor's hand shoot forward. He tried to react, but moving his hands away from the dark skin seemed to be nearly impossible. Before he could wonder what Connor was up to his cock was engulfed in a hot grip and lust rushed in his groin, forcing his mouth open and making his nipples feel heavy. He used his last coherent thought to return the favour and grab Connor's erection, hard and unrelenting, and in his light headed state the sight of the brown eyes widen and the wide mouth going slack was like a drug. He tugged. Connor pulled. They groaned, together, like wolves, like mates. Connor pulled him close by his cock and Haytham slid forward, meeting his son's cock with his, kneeling over him, both of their hands grabbing both of their shafts. Their gazes met as they fought for breath, their bodies heaving and their skin glistening with sweat. 

Then they started to move their hands in perfect synchronisation. Haytham's head fell back while Connor's sank forward, and their moans were like a carnal conversation that only served to make them hotter, needier, closer to that point. They shifted, almost at the same time, and now their bracers rubbed against their thighs while they were pleasuring each other. Haytham stared down, realising for the first time that they were still armed, could still maim and kill each other. He watched their hands move, watched the blades attached to their arms sit in their sheathes, knowing it would only take a flick of the arm to unleash them. Connor's other hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, and the blunt end of the sheath pressed into his collarbone. Haytham gasped and his gaze shot up to his son's face, and while lust had nearly overwhelmed the boy, the brown gaze held him steadily and that brat had the audacity to grin. Haytham growled and lifted his arm. Heavily it rested on Connor's shoulder, but instead of letting the hand rest there, he twisted it a little so that it lay around Connor's neck, the sheath pointing directly at the atery. The grin disappeared. Instead, Connor took a shaking breath, his eyes screwed shut, and Haytham watched his son come undone in front of him. That, and the strong hand nearly breaking his collarbone was all it took. He spilled his seed over their hands to let it mingle with Connor's. 

They slumped against each other and stayed like this for a few moments, not even letting go of their cocks. Their breaths were heavy but grew calmer, soon, and after a while Haytham noticed that the hand had moved from his collarbone to his hair and had started tousling and stroking it. He let his own hand slide down Connor's chest until he could reach around and run it across the broad back, feeling his son shiver slightly in the hot air. It was then that he felt it was absolutely necessary to place a kiss on the brown shoulder.


	21. A shower

Haytham had sunk to the ground next to his son, never letting go of him, even though his arms felt like lead. His head slid into the nape of Connor's neck, unwilling to miss the brown skin's scent, the softness that clad the hard sinews, the strong muscles, the protruding bones of the shoulder. Haytham's lids were heavy. He wanted to let himself go, wanted to drift off in the arms of his son who was his dearest enemy with his arms open and his blade ready. Haytham let his hand travel across the hairless chest, taking his time, admiring the odd freckle. A brown hand touched his own paler skin, the strong fingers playing with his few coarse hairs. Then it moved to his nipple and circled it playfully. Haytham groaned. 'Again?'

Connor's chuckle was both mocking and affectionate. 'I wouldn't want to exhaust you, old man.' he said and first kissed his father's frown and then silenced him with his mouth. Their tongues met and Haytham felt his body stir as goosebumps formed on his arms and chest, and his thighs shivered as he felt himself press forward against Connor's hard body. 'Needy old man.' Connor muttered and smiled when Haytham tugged at his pony tail in mock anger. But their kiss became lazier and soon their breath slowed and slumber overwhelmed them. 

When Haytham awoke he was alone. Blinking he sat up and looked around. Then he heard the splashing and got up to walk over to the waterfall. There was Connor. Haytham stopped and stared. The tall, dark man stood like an extra rock in the crystal clear water. It fell on his head and his shoulders and splashed in all directions, and the sun played tricks on his eyes, turning every droplet into a diamond. Haytham stepped closer and his eyes were fixed on the beautiful body before him when his foot hit a rock right next to the pool. First Haytham only glanced at the grey boulder, but when he saw what was lying on top of it his eyes widened. There, gleaming in the sunlight, lay Connor's bracers, the ones he had never taken off ever since they had woken up on the shore. Haytham's mind reeled. It was quite logical, wasn't it? Connor had decided to clean himself properly and the blades were in the way. Really, it was totally understandable. Unless you count in his biggest enemy still wearing two bracers. Haytham rubbed his eyes. On the other hand, he definitely needed a shower, as well. With well practiced moves he took off his bracers and put them neatly right next to his son's. Then he waded through the pool to the waterfall.


	22. Stranded in a teahouse

Haytham sat at the beach and watched his son catch fish with a spear he had made from what they had identified as bamboo. It seemed to work pretty well as the pile of fish at Haytham's feet grew steadily, and yet again the water splashed around Connor's calves as he waded back to the beach to add another tiny shark to it. Haytham took a deep breath as he watched the hard muscles move under the brown skin. How natural it looked for the boy to be walking around like this. As if he was born to be naked, wearing only this odd necklace and the beads in his braid. So different from himself. Even if he wasn't grey, and he had, to his horror, noticed that not only the hair on his head had changed colour, he was certainly not born to be naked. His body was none to be ashamed of, of course. Strong, muscled and lean, he probably outdid most of the men of his age, if not all of them. But alas, here lay the problem. His age. He was old and it showed. A few saggy bits here, some wrinkles there, and, to top it all off, he was pale as a ghost, at least compared to his son. In fact, parts of his skin, unused to the sun and the heat, had started to turn red and itchy, which was why he preferred the shade and let Connor do the work in the glaring light. 

And Connor didn't mind. But didn't he mind touching a wrinkly, grey haired crab? Haytham sighed. It was simply unfair. If they had been stranded in a London tea room, Haytham would have cut the better figure. He had to snicker, imagining Connor handling expensive china and delicate sandwiches with those hands of his. But things were as they were, and Connor had touched him, had let him touch him back, and he had enjoyed it. 

But, asked a nagging thought, you are the only other human being on this island. Of course he doesn't have much choice, does he? Haytham bit his lip. This was so unlike him. Where did all those nasty thoughts come from? His son flashed him a smile, a row of brilliant white teeth flashing up in the dark, handsome face. This is where they come from, he thought. They come from the beauty and perfection that is Connor. Haytham blinked and rolled over the thought in his mind like a strange taste on his tongue. Then he groaned and buried his face in his hands. 'You have it bad, old man.' he muttered, 'What a fool you are.'


	23. The wish to yield

Haytham found it impossible to believe that his usually high self esteem had fallen victim to the presence of a savage. He bit his lip, his eyes never leaving his son's naked form. A grandmaster, a deadly assassin, a master of the blade and the gun, cunning, in charge, and never allowing himself to bow before another man, except for the templars that guided him, he suddenly found himself in the position of prey. He realised that sentiment stemmed from his infatuation with his son. It made him weak and he hated that feeling, yet at the same time he reveled in it. While his age made him worry about his son's motives, he himself felt invigorated by the rush of lust he felt whenever he saw Connor moved and most certainly whenever he recalled his son's touch and kisses. His muscles flexed as if he was struggling against this impossible contradiction. 

A thud ripped him out of his thoughts. A big, blue-greenish fish twisted at his feet, and behind it he saw Connor's brown feet. Haytham raised his head, squinting against the sunlight that surrounded his son's broad shape and before he could say something, before he could shift, the boy had moved. No, not a boy, Haytham thought, as hands closed around his wrists, a man. And this man easily lowered him on his back, with the gentle force of the naive giant that he was. For a moment Haytham considered simply letting go of that last bit of pride, those microscopic remains of resistance against his wish to simply spread out before this feral god, this unbelievably beautiful creature. He yearned to simply bask in the feeling that Connor wanted him, wanted to touch and feel him. But there was something inside of him that would never make him stop trying to struggle, trying to get the upper hand. And so he bucked and twisted while happily noticing Connor didn't mind his struggle a bit. 

Putting his body weight fully on Haytham, the young half blood watched his father gasp as the air went out of his body. 'Get...off!' Haytham grunted, and Connor chuckled. Deliberately, he waited for a few seconds and then almost lazily rolled off, still holding on to Haytham's wrists. Like a rag doll, the templar felt himself get dragged on top of Connor where he came to lay face to face to a small smirk and tiny wrinkles around those dark eyes. 'Who do you think you are?' Haytham spat, despite the feeling that collected in his stomach, a strange vibration that went through his whole body. Connor gave a short laugh. A sharp movement of his neck brought his lips up against Haytham's and ended the struggle immediately. All the older man could do was trying to stifle the moans that escaped his throat at the feeling of the full, slightly chapped lips on his, of the tentative, sweet tongue entering his mouth and the naked body rubbing up against his.


	24. More

'There is more, isn't there?' Connor's breathless words made Haytham shudder. He tried to feign ignorance, confusion, said:'What do you mean?', or rather, gasped it. But he knew what Connor meant. There was indeed more to do between two men than just touching and grabbing. Connor bared his teeth. He knew that Haytham knew. 'Let me go.' the templar whispered and Connor complied as he knew Haytham wasn't going flee. The brown eyes seemed almost black when Haytham looked up to meet the sharp, steady gaze, before he lowered himself down to kiss his son's broad chest, right between the nipples. Connor made no sound, but Haytham felt the tension in his body, the twitch whenever he placed another kiss as he made his way towards the young man's groin. 

Connor's cock was already erect, and for a moment Haytham was overwhelmed by the scent, the earthy, musky odor that seemed so irresistible, but which also made him dizzy, lured him into a place that made him forget who he was, where he was, who he was with. It reduced him to mere instincts, made something that usually lay hidden in the depth of his being stir and raise, creating a yearning that could only be satisfied by giving himself up to this man before him. Haytham blinked, tried to focus, tried to think of it as a lesson, as educating his son in the ways of the world, only not to get lost in his own desires. He couldn't help chuckle at his feeble struggle. Connor twitched again, and when Haytham looked up at him the young man was staring him down with a raised eyebrow. 'What's so funny?' his son hissed. Haytham blinked, then smiled. 'It is me. I am funny. You wouldn't believe it.' He could see that Connor wasn't satisfied with his enigmatic answer, propping himself up on his elbows, a frown between his eyebrows. But Haytham knew how to make him focus on something else. Slowly, with deliberate care, he took the tip of his son's cock between his lips. 

It certainly did the trick. Connor moaned, his elbows sliding from underneath him so that he fell back and lay, spread out, under his father, giving himself up for him unconsciously. Haytham would have enjoyed it more if he hadn't been so overwhelmed by tasting his son for the first time. It was as if Connor's cock was made for his mouth, as if this was the way things belonged. His throat was eager to be filled, to be stretched as he used to do it for...for...his mind was going blank, all he could see was brown skin, all he could feel was the wet, velvety thickness that filled his mouth, and when he took more inside, lowered himself down the shaft, letting it slide into himself, it was as if he had never done anything else. He didn't even gag, didn't struggle, as all he wanted was to bury his nose in the sparse hair around the base of the cock, and when he did he nearly fainted as he felt complete, much more thanhe had in a long time.


	25. Return the favour

He was so absorbed in his sweet task that he nearly choked when suddenly Connor's hands grabbed him and manhandled him into a different position, clearly beyond caring whether he was hurting him or not. Haytham found himself nose deep in Connor's balls now, while his own crotch was lined up with his son's mouth. Before he could imagine what that meant Connor showed him as he swallowed his cock as if he had never done anything else in his life. All Haytham could do was moan loudly around the hard flesh which filled his throat, and while he doubted he would come out of this alive he embraced the moment, the intensity, and resumed to suck. Soon they had found a rhythm, as if they were one organism, one body, and their skin was slick with sweat as they moved against each other. Their hands roamed, stroking swollen balls, slick thighs, and their stomachs shook with tension. Only very rarely their breath broke free, in moans that sounded more like growls. 

When they came, they both swallowed, deeply, hungrily, and then they let themselves sink on the others thigh, feeling the new softness in their mouths and an overwhelming tiredness dragging their lids down. With almost superhuman effort Haytham let go of Connor's limp cock and rolled a bit to the side, letting his own penis slide out of Connor's mouth as well. They crawled like old men, like drunk bears, until they lay in each others arms again. As if on cue, Connor started playing with Haytham's hair, and Haytham closed his eyes, wondering if there was an end to all the things he was suddenly going to find quite normal and acceptable on this island. When Connor's hand dropped Haytham knew his son was asleep. A sudden urge to see him like that made Hatham lift his head. 

Long dark lashes rested on freckled cheeks, kissed by the sun. The lines on his son's face, too many for someone of his age, were softer now. His mouth was relaxed, the slight pout he wore when talking to him had disappeared. Haytham reached out and stroked a cheek. What a strange turn their lives had taken. This island...it was like a place out of time. He bit his lip when he wondered what would happen if they got back to America. Would he be able to stand up against his son as he had done it before? He blinked when he realised that he had, for a brief moment, considered changing sides. Becoming an assassin, just like Connor. To be with Connor. He grimaced and rubbed his face. No. No, it was this bloody island that made him think like this. No. The moment they were off this godforsaken rock he was going to resume his duties as the grandmaster.


	26. Make it right

This time, Connor was still there, right in his arms, when Haytham woke up. But he was awake, and his gaze seemed to be locked to the endless blue sky, as if he was looking for answers to questions he hadn't yet verbalized. 'Morning...' Haytham said, trying to ignore the feeling that his son might have the same thoughts as he had had before they had gone to sleep. Instead, he focused on the sensation of his son's sweaty body against his. His hand traveled across the muscular abdomen and would have gone further down hadn't Connor stopped him by grabbing his wrist. Haytham drew a sharp breath and his whole body tensed instinctively, ready to fight. Immediately, Connor's body responded, and their embrace turned into something else entirely. 'So what is it now?' snarled Haytham, unable to tell what he was feeling. It wasn't just anger, he admitted. Was it disappointment? He shook it off. 

'We will always be what we are.' said Connor and his voice sounded as if it took him a vast amount of strength to say what he was thinking. Haytham waited, but there was nothing more to say, really. He knew it. And he knew exactly what Connor meant. Again, he recoiled from the idea to simply renounce his templar existence and join Connor in his cause. Yes, it was a hairline decision. But he couldn't, wouldn't give up on his cause. He knew he was right. He knew he was going to give the world peace and order. His infatuation with his son would never make him veer from his path. Anger boiled up inside of him, anger at Connor who made him doubt his vocation like no one and nothing ever before. Oh this little brat would pay for his devious ways in which he wormed himself into his soul. Then Connor said: 'I can't give up my way. Not even for you.' 

Like a burnt out branch, his anger turned to dust. His jaw nearly dropped. Connor looked at him, his face pained and his eyes sad. He had been thinking along the same lines as Haytham. Only his feelings had been different. Instead of Haytham's wrath, he felt sorrow. For a few moments, Haytham stared at his son. He felt his chest move with each breath, his heart beat through his veins. The wind was playing with his dark brown hair and mussed it up a little, as if it was trying to cover the sad brown eyes. Their bodies relaxed, as if they knew that the threat was over, only that no one had said it out aloud. Haytham cleared his throat. 'Well. As long as we are here, on this island, we need not worry about that. Here, it is all different, and it is just us. No cause, not templars, no assassins.' Would that make it right? Would that take away the sadness? Haytham bit his lip. Connor tilted his head a little and then smiled, his eyes brightening, and Haytham felt a rush of happiness. Yes, he had made it right. And he wasn't going to wonder why he found that so important all of a sudden.


	27. There is more

'We should try and signal ships here.'  
Haytham didn't answer. Connor's words had fallen into his consciousness like a stone into a pond. He wondered why he felt so unsettled when it was such a reasonable idea. 'You are right.' he said, trying to focus on what was the most rational train of thought. 'Let's gather some wood and put it on the rock. We can light it when we make out a ship.'   
Connor nodded slowly. 'Right, which means we should keep a lookout.'  
This didn't become any better. Haytham bit his lip. Did this mean that Connor wanted one of them on the rock all the time? Was their love making to end with this?  
'It doesn't mean that we must perch on the rock all the time.' said Connor, ignoring Haytham's sudden coughing fit. 'We just...scan the horizon whenever we are at the beach.'   
It was the most logical decision, really. Connor wanted to get things done, he didn't want to sit on that rock all the time. Surely he wasn't worried about not being able to...  
'And I want to keep on...with you...you know...' Haytham watched his son blush brightly. He leaned back his head and smiled at the sky. 

They placed the firewood on top of the rock and also a flint stone next to it. Haytham hardly dared look at the horizon. If a ship showed now, it was all over. And there was so much, so much he still wanted to do to Connor. With Connor. Silently, they climbed down again and then Connor turned to Haytham.   
'There is more, isn't there?' It was such an innocent question, but Haytham knew exactly what Connor meant. He nodded.   
Connor sent him one of his long, dark gazes. He licked his lips. 'Show me.' he said. 

Lying between Connor's legs, licking carefully beneath the heavy, dark balls, listening to his son's breathless moans, Haytham wondered how one's concern could be solely how to pry open a coconut in a state of utter arousal. Now one half of the fruit was sitting next to Connor's writhing body, and its milky water coated Haytham's fingers.   
Slowly, he felt up his son, finding the little pucker soon enough, but taking his time, circling it, poking, probing slightly, and the moans grew louder, the thighs narrowing, threatening to squeeze him. 'Relax...' he cooed and poked a finger in.   
For a moment, Connor was completely still. His whole world seemed to have focused on the tiny intruder in his body. Haytham, too, had frozen. He had the feeling he had reached a threshold, a place he was going to leave as a changed man.   
It took a while until Haytham dared to move the finger. His jaw dropped at the sounds Connor made. With a shaking hand he grabbed his own erection, trying not to finish himself off before he could reach his goal. He added a second finger.   
Connor arched his back. All Haytham could do was jerk back, but the fingers stayed in the warm, tight heat. In and out. The sounds were no longer human. A wild cat paired with a wolf in heat. A third finger joined the first two.   
'...already!' spat Connor, adding a few words in his native tongue. Haytham hissed, his whole body shivering with anticipation. The fingers withdrew. His cock was ready, slicked and throbbing.


	28. The threshold

Connor's eyes were locked with his as he pushed in. Haytham hadn't expected that, but he was beyond wondering what was happening here, on this island, in the sand, with his son. He simply bathed in the dark, velvety brown gaze. How cold and dangerous those eyes could look. Not now, though, not now. The soul behind them was wide open, and Haytham saw fear, and need, and, and it shook him to the core, trust. His hips jerked. Connor's mouth fell open. He was seathed.   
'You...ok...?' Haytham found it really hard to form words. More Mohawk. It rolled off Connor's tongue, its guttural melody causing goosebumps on Haytham's skin. Finally Connor's eyes focused a bit. 'Move.' he hissed, and his tone left no room for argument. 

Haytham let his hips relax. His cock slid out a bit, and he felt every inch. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed forward, and Connor gasped. A short glance told Haytham the nature of the sound. Then he felt Connor's heels in his back, urging him on like a horse. Strong brown hands grabbed his arms, his torso, his hair. He let it happen, pulled and pushed, then again, and again, and then it became a rhythm, and Connor had started groaning. 

Faster and faster he thrust, watching Connor's features melt, his mouth drop open, his lids flutter. His hands were groping thin air, then fell on the ground, desperately grabbing sand. Soon he was screaming his lust out into the hot sky. Haytham kept working, pounding. What was he feeling? What was it, the tightness around his cock? The sweaty skin against his? Or was it his son falling apart under him that drove him over the edge? He shuddered, the knot of lust in his groin rose. His hand was unsteady when he tried to grab Connor's cock, but it didn't take much anyways. Connor roared out his orgasm, arching and twisting, and the knot exploded in Haytham's belly, sending waves of lust through his body as he shot his semen in his son's body.


	29. The ship

It took them a long time to recover but neither of them slept. Connor was lying there, in Haytham's embrace, staring at the sky, while Haytham felt himself attacked by unpleasant worries. Had he hurt his son? Had they gone too far? Was this the end of their wicked relationship on this godforsaken island? He was reclining perfectly still, but his heart was racing. It wasn't until Connor suddenly took his hand and turned his head to smile at him that relief descended on him like a cool veil. He smiled back and only then he dozed off peacefully. 

A week later Haytham stood at the beach, scanning the horizon without really seeing anything. He swayed a little as he felt the soreness that now was one of the many constants in his life, and he grinned when he remembered how Connor had turned the tables soon after they had recovered. From then on it had always been some sort of a battle, with both of them wrestling for dominance, for the upper hand, but, and Haytham's grin grew broader, not for the giving position in their love making. It had irked both of their egos at first, but they actually both enjoyed being on the receiving end of their sexual encounters. 

It was perfect. It was unlike any other time in his life. There was nothing to do except for fishing, finding fruit, and having sex. Oh, yes, and waiting for a ship to save them. Haytham bit his lip. 

A hand on his shoulder made him tilt his head a little, and Connor pressed a kiss to his jaw. It was a short, heated embrace, and their mouths met hot and needy. Their hands were everywhere. 

Then Connor stopped and turned. For a few moments he didn't say anything. He only stared at a spot on the horizon. Haytham swallowed. Then, as if his gazed was drawn by an invisible string, he also turned his head. 

A ship. Tiny and black against the horizon. 

'The fire.' Connor finally said. Both of them looked at the rock, on top of which their pile of wood lay, ready to signal to the ship that they were there and ready to be rescued.   
When they climbed the rock, no one could have spotted any decline in their skills. Both were still fast and efficient in their movements. 

On the little platform they retrieved the flintstone. Connor handed it to his father.   
'Well, you can light it.' Haytham said.   
'No, you do it.' said Connor.   
They stood in the bright sunlight, staring at each other while the ship sailed across the horizon, becoming smaller, until it disappeared.   
Father and son smiled. 

The end.


End file.
